HTLJ:YH Pariah
by Arianna18
Summary: Young Hercules learns a terrifying secret and needs some help from his best friend.


Their visit wasn't a surprise. They'd sent word that they were coming, as they always did. And, watching for them, they had seen the small wagon enter their lane from the road below, had heard the plodding clop of the horses' hooves and the jangle of the traces when they pulled up by the barn.

So, the visit wasn't a surprise.

Nor was the way they behaved, or the way his mother and brother behaved, every time they came. It was always the same, for as long as he could remember. Mom would start looking worried and tense, pale somehow, her skin as white and dull as old milk and she'd get quiet. Normally, she laughed a lot, and teased them, played with them when she wasn't cooking or cleaning or working in the garden, and even then she'd get them involved, making a game of it. But, not when they were coming. From the moment the scroll from them arrived, she'd look worried…and unhappy.

It made him feel sick somehow to see her look so miserable. Once he'd figured out that it was them, and the way they treated her, that made her look like that, he'd started to feel anger toward them. More than anger, if he was honest with himself. But he didn't like to admit, not even to himself, that he really, actually, hated them. He didn't like hating people. It made him feel sick inside.

And his brother would grow short-tempered and argumentative when he knew they were coming. Like he was angry, too. Like maybe he also hated them…well, maybe he did. It wasn't something they talked about. Nobody ever talked about these visits. They just pretended everything was fine, that they were all really glad to know the visitors were coming. It was funny. They didn't lie to each other about anything else, so far as he knew, anyway. But, these visits were all about lies, and anger, and being unhappy.

He just didn't know why.

Anymore than he'd ever known why they'd always hated him so much.

He remembered the first time he'd realized that, years ago now when he'd been just a little kid. Frowning now as he waited for the door to open, waited for them to come in, he tried to remember exactly when it had been and how old he'd been. Three, maybe? Yeah, three. He remembered because they always came on his birthday, which was his brother's birthday, too. And that was the first birthday he could clearly remember. He'd been excited 'cause his Mom had baked them their absolutely most favourite pastries, and as soon as they'd woken up that day, she'd given them both new clothes she'd sewn for them.

It was always the same, every year. New clothes, and she'd say to each of them in turn, 'Another year older and grown SO big…you must need something new to wear! Your old things are tired and worn out…and much, much, too small for you now. So," and she'd reach into the basket behind her with a flourish, "look what we have! New clothes for my big, strong, wonderful son!"

Oh, he knew his 'new' clothes had been made over from some of his older brother's old garments, but it didn't matter. Because, she'd made them new, taking them apart, cutting them to ensure they'd fit just right, making them for him. And she always did something to make them a little different than they'd been when his brother had worn them. Using scraps of cloth, she'd make a special pocket, or add a patch or stripe of colour, blue if she could find it, to match his eyes, she said. Not like some of the kids at school, who wore ill-fitting cast off clothes. Oh, he often needed more clothes during the year, 'cause he grew so fast, but that didn't make the birthday clothes less special.

And that first birthday that he could remember had been really wonderful… until they'd come.

Though he couldn't remember earlier visits now, he must have remembered some then. Because he had no memory of ever running to greet them, no memory of ever being glad to see them. Even then, he'd stood behind his brother's shoulder, watching, wishing they'd notice that he was even there…but they never did. Not once. Not ever. They acted like he was invisible, as if he didn't belong…like an outsider in his own home. Once, a couple of years ago now, he'd heard his mother hissing at them when she thought he and Iph were both in bed asleep. She said something about how they shouldn't treat her son like some kind of 'pariah'. He didn't know what the word meant exactly, but the way she said it, and the way they'd snapped back that they'd treat the 'wretch' anyway they liked, he knew they'd been talking about him. He finally just figured it was another word for saying someone didn't belong…that he didn't belong. And it made him feel scared inside.

So he'd stand behind Iph, in his shadow, quiet like a shadow, becoming as invisible as they always made him feel.

It wasn't that they were mean, not exactly. They'd come in with these big, fake smiles, calling out 'hello' and 'how are you?' and then they'd chatter on about the trip, how long it was and how tiring; how dusty the roads had been and how rude the peasants on the road, not getting out of the way, leaving them stranded for what felt like a handspan in the midst of a herd of cattle or flock of sheep that had filled and blocked the road…as if any of them cared a fig about what their trip had been like. And they'd bring in great, huge baskets of food and stuff for Iph.

Never anything for his mother. And, certainly, never once, anything for him.

And then they'd fall down on their knees and hold out their arms and call to Iph, their 'darling boy', to come to them and they'd hug and kiss him, because they loved him so much. He could feel Iph get all stiff and tense as soon as he heard them walking up to the door outside. He never ran to them, like they wanted, but he would go to them 'cause Mom had said he must, that they were his grandparents, his father's mother and father and he had to be nice to them. So, he'd march up to them, his back straight and shoulders squared, like a soldier, and they'd praise him for it, saying he was just like a little general. Just like his father. Mom would come then to stand with her hand on his shoulder, quiet and trembling a little…and that was also the first time, that third birthday, that he ever remembered seeing tears in her eyes. But, she didn't actually cry. She just looked so sad, like something was breaking inside and it hurt her, real bad.

When they were done fussing over Iph, they'd look up at Mom and say something like, 'he looks so thin…don't you ever feed the child?' and then they'd pick up the baskets of food and thump them onto the table. 'Good thing we come by once in a while or the gods know what we'd find,' they'd say, shivering a little, as if all that would be there in the cottage were shriveled up husks of starving people. Mom would always swallow and say, 'Thank you, it's good of you. You're very generous'. But her voice sounded strained and forced. Not natural…and sure no laughter in it.

At some point, their eyes would brush over him and he'd see something in them that made him shiver and feel cold, but then they'd look away again. Never saying anything. It was his birthday, too, but there were never any gifts for him. They never wanted to hug or kiss him, or even touch him. They never, ever spoke to him directly.

He knew Mom and Iph hated that. He could tell because they would both go out of their way to talk to him when they were there, Iph especially. And…and he'd always pick out the best new toy, or the softest new tunic and, right in front of them, he'd carry it over and say, 'Brother, this is for you. Because I love you and I'm glad you're my brother. Happy Birthday.' Oh, he always shared the other stuff, too, once they were gone, but it was like he was making a fuss deliberately, the toy or the tunic a way for him to tell them that he didn't care what they thought, that he'd give the best that he had to his brother, whether they liked his brother or not, but he couldn't say it to their faces. 'Cause Mom said he had to be nice to them.

That was always the best moment when they were there. The one moment when he knew he wasn't really invisible at all, but that they just didn't want to see him, didn't want him to be there, though he never knew why. But what they thought or how they acted in that moment never mattered. Because Iph would be standing there, calling him 'Brother' and saying he was proud of him or something grown up like that, and then, best of all, Iph would hug him tightly and whisper softly in his ear so that nobody else could hear, 'Don't mind them…they're just dumb and don't know any better. They'll be gone again soon.'

Every year it was the same thing, year after year after year. And, now, he could hear their steps outside once again, and he was standing behind Iph's shoulder, just as he always did. But, this year, he vowed that it wouldn't make him cry. He was big now, not a little kid anymore. He went to school and knew how to spell. He knew numbers and could add them up as quick as anyone could. And he'd grown tall, almost as tall as Iph who was two years older than he was. He was a big boy, not a baby anymore. Straightening his shoulders, lifting his chin, he waited for the door to open.

It was his birthday. And he was seven years old.

* * *

"Alcaeus," Alcmene welcomed her father-in-law formally, bowing her head toward him, "and Phoebe," she acknowledged her mother-in-law, "we greet you and are honoured by your presence. Please come in and be comfortable here. Our home is yours."

"Alcmene," Alcaeus nodded back, his face stiff and his voice tight until he looked over toward Iphicles and smiled, but then he frowned as he turned back to his daughter-in-law, to say, "He looks thin, and I grow weary of always arriving here to find him in rags."

Alcmene swallowed hard and bit her lip against the hot words that rose in her throat. Setting her jaw, she held onto her temper and turned away, ignoring the remark as she poured wine for them, and set out fresh warm bread and cheese, pickles and hard boiled eggs, ripe, sweet tomatoes, and olives drenched in their oil. As soon as they called Iphicles to their embrace, she moved from the table to stand beside Hercules, her hand firmly placed on his shoulder, so that he would know he was not alone and despised, but loved and that he, too, belonged here.

The ritual played itself out, each step now so well known it was like an old, familiar dance, but she resented it deeply. Though she was always proud of Iphicles when he'd turn back to his younger brother and bring him a token of love and esteem, she hated that the boys had to go through this, had to experience this unhealthy, even hateful, event that each and every year marred their birthdays; the day that should have only been special and filled with happiness.

But she could not deny them, as hateful as they were. They were her husband's parents, and as he was dead, she was obliged to take his father's guidance and defer to them in her own home. It was only for a couple of days and only once a year, but the time weighed heavily, dragging by slowly, fitfully, whenever they were present. Taking a breath, she stiffened her back and prepared to endure, as she knew her sons endured, so long as these 'guests' stayed.

Finally, the boys were able to escape to the outdoors, to run off their tension and be free for a bit, while she sat with them and exchanged the news since their last visit. But, this time, to her horror, the conversation turned in a new and unexpected direction.

Not bothering with the pretense of small talk this time, Alcaeus got straight to the point. "We're taking Iphicles with us when we leave tomorrow morning," he told Alcmene.

"What?" she gasped, all expression bleached from her face as she shook her head, denying the words, wanting to believe she hadn't heard them.

"It's time he was in a decent home," Phoebe drawled, her scathing glance roaming the small and unpretentious cottage. "He needs to grow up with boys of his own quality, make the friends who will be his colleagues and peers when he is a man."

"No," Alcmene protested, her voice rising in helpless despair. "You can't take him! He's my son! I won't let you!"

Alcaeus glared at her coldly. "You have no word in this. No rights. You have been less than nothing since you forsook your vows to my son and foisted that byblow upon our family. You shamed us, and his existence continues to shame us. You are a wretch and unfit to raise my son's son," he said with bitter brutality.

She looked from one to the other, her eyes wide and filled with pain. "Please, I beg you," she implored, swallowing against the sudden sick nausea and the bile that rose in her throat. "Iphicles is my son. Don't do this."

Contemptuous, certainly pitiless, Phoebe curled her lip at the raw emotions in Alcmene's face and voice. "Hold your tongue, woman. The decision is made and you will abide by it. You will also behave as if you are glad of it, so that he is not frightened or resentful when we take him away. Cross us in this, and I promise you, you will never see him again."

Alcmene looked from one to the other, her face suddenly gray and haggard, sick to her soul with helplessness, too stunned and appalled to even be angry. A hot tear spilled onto her cold cheek, and she shivered, feeling as if she'd suddenly been encased in a block of ice, buried beneath the deep snow that glistened all year on the tops of the distant mountains. In a daze, she looked away, and then stood to move from the table, to get away from them and their virulent hatred. She moved as if in a dream into the sitting room and stared at the small reminders of her son, his small treasures…the rock collection by the hearth, coloured bits of quartz that Iphicles had thought beautiful and had brought home to her, one piece at a time over the years. The clay bowl holding his fishing hooks, that he'd so proudly fashioned for himself from bone and bits of discarded metal. His cloak, thrown carelessly over one chair and forgotten when he'd come in out of the rain for their meal last night. An awkward and unsymmetrical clay vase he'd made with his own hands at the school and had presented to her so proudly, with a wild daisy posed in it, for her last birthday.

Tears welled in her eyes and she sank to her knees, her arms crossed tight across her breast. She fought the urge to sob and wail in her grief for it would do no good. She believed their threats, because they had all the power and she had none. If she didn't accept this, she might never see her beloved first born again. Biting her lip, she shuddered with the cold of shock. Shutting her eyes against the tears, refusing to allow them to fall, she might have damned Zeus then, for what he'd done to her, for having brought her to this.

But, she couldn't.

Because Zeus had also given her Hercules.

She dragged in one breath, and then another, striving for calm. She could not wish to have had only one son, for she loved them both with all that she was. She could not choose to wish one away in order to keep the other.

But, then, she didn't have to choose.

The choice had already been made for her, and the decision was irrevocable.

Bowing her head, she could only pray, to Hestia, goddess of the hearth and families, to Aphrodite, goddess of all forms of love, to Athena, goddess of wisdom, and even to Zeus, King of all the Gods. "Please," she murmured, her voice breaking, "please watch over him and keep him safe. Please, allow him to be happy and to know love. Oh, please, please, I beg you, take care of my boy…."

* * *

Oblivious to the children outside, the adults hadn't known that young ears had overheard their bitter words. Below the open casement of the window, beside the door that had stood open when they'd dashed out to freedom, they'd crouched to hear the conversation, curious, suspicious of these strangers who claimed they were family, who boasted they came in love but only ever resulted in their mother crying in the night.

So, they heard.

Hercules gaped at his brother, appalled to think Iph was going to be taken away, unable to imagine anything more horrible than having to live with them, unless it was the thought of never seeing his brother again. And he felt a surge of guilt, understanding somehow that he was part of the reason that Iph was being taken away. Though he didn't understand why he was such a disgrace that Iph couldn't be allowed to live in the same cottage with him anymore.

Iphicles had gone still, like a statue, his head bowed and his face hidden from Hercules. But his fists had clenched and he'd almost cried out, almost shouted that he wouldn't go, until he heard the final threat. If he protested, they'd never let him see his mother again. Or his brother. A young boy, still only a child really, of nine years, Iphicles struggled with the burden of knowing he had to act as if this was all right, that he was happy about it and even wanted to go with them.

He wanted to kill them.

Suddenly, he wheeled away and fled away from the house, around the barn and across the meadow to the forest, Hercules racing along behind him. When they reached the shelter of the trees, and were hidden in their shadows, Iphicles finally stopped and leaned against a sturdy trunk, sinking to his knees as he fought his tears.

Hercules approached tentatively, made afraid by what was happening, scared by the tears he saw on Iph's face. Iphicles never cried. He was strong and confident and could do most anything. He laughed almost all the time, except when they were here. Kneeling beside his brother, Hercules put an arm around his shoulders and hugged him, not knowing what else to do.

"Why," the younger boy whispered. "Why are they going to take you away?"

Iph heaved in a breath and sniffed, reaching up to wipe his face with impotent fear and grief. Crying wasn't going to help make anything better. Leaning into his brother's embrace, he shook his head. "I don't know," he lied, struggling to keep his voice steady, to hold back the surge of resentment he knew wasn't fair.

Because, being older, having heard the nastiness in the town for all of his life, he did know. Hercules was not Amphitryon's son, and that was a scandal. It meant, somehow, that the mother Iph only knew as good and gentle, was somehow bad, an object of ridicule and disgust. She'd been 'unfaithful' to his father and Hercules was the result of that unfaithfulness, the living embodiment of her shame. The fact of Hercules' very existence was the reason he was being taken from his home and Iphicles knew it.

But with the wisdom and compassion of love, Iph also knew that none of it was Hercules' fault. No one chose their parents. Hercules was a good kid. Oh, he was shy and awkward with his weird strength that no one understood and many feared, but he'd never hurt anyone or anything. He was gentle and never seemed to carry a grudge for the misery others heaped on him, with mean words that the kid didn't even really understand. And Hercules was his biggest fan, the older boy knew. Following him everywhere, eager to learn, love and pride shining from his eyes, always willing to engage in games or a bit of mischief, Iphicles knew he'd miss Hercules, miss him every single day. The fact was, Iph would cut out his own heart before he'd hurt his brother, so he lied.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Hercules whispered then, stricken, his face white with strain and guilt. "What did I do that was so bad, Iph?" he asked, his voice small and cracking with tears.

Iphicles shook his head as he turned and wrapped his own arms around his brother. "Nothing, Hercules," he murmured. "You didn't do anything wrong. This isn't your fault…never think it is."

"But…but they said…" the younger boy began, only to have his brother cut him off.

"I don't care what they said," Iph replied staunchly. "They…they have the right to take me to live with them. Lots of boys go to live with other relatives or friends of their families. It's called 'being fostered out', and it happens when it's time to go to a different school and meet other boys in another city, to make friends who will be soldiers with you when you're grown. It's normal, Hercules…I just…I'm just sad to go, you know. I'll miss you, and Mom. I'll miss you so much…you don't know how much…"

Iph had to stop when his voice betrayed him. Hugging his brother tightly, he sniffed again, searching deep within himself for the strength he had to have to get through the hours until they took him away, and then to survive with them for all the years ahead without showing how much he hated them. Swallowing, he said quietly, "You'll see. It'll be all right. But…but you need to take care of Mom now. She'll be depending on you to be the man of the house. I know you'll miss me, too, but you can't show her that you feel bad, or she'll feel bad, too. Okay?"

Young Hercules bent his head and nodded. Sniffing, he pulled away from his brother's embrace and wiped the wetness from his cheeks and eyes. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll be strong. And I promise I'll always take care of Mom. But…you'll come back again, someday, won't you?"

"Sure I will," Iph replied. "I promise, Hercules…I'll come back."

Looking up into his brother's eyes, Hercules could see the love there, and the truth of the vow. But, he could also see the grief Iph was trying so hard to hide. The pain of knowing he was being taken away, the anger at his helplessness to refuse and his fear of what his life would be like from now on. "I love you, Iph," the boy murmured. "I know I'm just a kid, but I'm strong and I'll get stronger, I guess. If…if you ever need my help, I'll come, no matter where you are."

Touched by the courage of those words, Iph smiled as he replied, "And, if you ever need my help, I'll come to you, as well. We're brothers, Hercules. Nothing and no one can ever change that or take that away from us. Don't you ever forget it."

"I won't," Hercules promised.

They sat quietly then for a long time, cherishing this last bit of time that they had together for who knew how long. Hercules wanted to believe Iphicles when his brother had said this wasn't his fault. But, he didn't. Maybe Iph didn't know why, anymore than he did, but somehow, this was his fault.

And he had to know why. He had to understand, so that he could make whatever it was right. The first chance he had, he was going to ask Alcaeus or Phoebe what he had done that had been so bad.

* * *

It was after supper before he got his chance. Alcmene was cleaning up the kitchen after the meal, and Phoebe was making a fuss over Iphicles in the sitting room when Alcaeus meandered outside to enjoy the cool evening air and smoke his pipe in peace. He had little patience with women and none for any child other than Iphicles, so these visits were a trial in every respect. He despised the small cottage, finding it cramped and uncomfortable. And he loathed his son's widow with every fibre of his being. Only the boy mattered, Amphitryon's boy. Only for him had Alcaeus endured this annual trial of his patience.

Hercules, unnoticed, slipped out of the cottage and followed Alcaeus to the garden, moving quietly until he was standing by the bench upon which the man was seated. If Alcaeus was aware of his presence, he gave no sign, but then, he never did.

"Why do you hate me?" Hercules asked softly, nervous, but needing to know.

Turning his face away, Alcaeus didn't acknowledge that he'd even heard the question.

"I don't understand," the boy persisted. "I never have. I don't know what I ever did that was so bad. I know you love Iphicles and that you hate me. But, why? I'm your grandson, too…"

Stung by those hateful words, Alcaeus rounded on the boy in a fury. "YOU are NOT my grandson!" he raged. "You are nothing to me, nothing to anyone. Amphitryon was not your father!"

"What? But…" Hercules stammered, shocked by the words. He wasn't Amphitryon's son? Then, who was he?

"Get away from me," Alcaeus ordered sharply, pulling away from the boy who had stepped toward him, his hand reaching out for reassurance. "I despise you, do you hear me? You're a foul bit of garbage, unworthy to speak my grandson's name. I loathe the sight of you and never, so long as I live, do I ever want to see you, or hear your voice, again. Go! Leave me!"

When Hercules remained frozen, stunned into immobility by the words and the hatred in the voice and eyes, Alcaeus shoved him roughly away, so that he stumbled and fell in the dirt. In disgust, Alcaeus stood and strode away into the darkness, leaving him huddled there, confused, afraid…and ashamed.

* * *

Hercules didn't say anything to anyone when he finally went back inside the cottage. Wordlessly, he went to the room he shared with Iphicles and crawled under the blanket on his bed, curled toward the wall. When Iph came in later, he pretended he was asleep so that he wouldn't have to talk, wouldn't have to confess what Alcaeus had told him. He didn't think he could tell Iph, without crying, without Iphicles hating him. Because, now he knew for certain that it was all his fault that Iphicles was being taken away. He wasn't fit to be near Iph, so his brother had to go live somewhere else.

Early the next morning, just after dawn, he rolled over and watched his brother as he slept, memorizing his face. When Iphicles woke up, Hercules knew from the change in his expression the exact moment when he remembered that this was the day he was going to be taken from his home, and the younger boy almost wept, but he swallowed the tears. It would be hard enough on Iph without him acting like a baby and making it even harder. Finally, they exchanged hopeless looks and then rose to get dressed.

"Iph," Hercules said finally, finding the words so hard to say. "I'm not going to go out there this morning. I don't want to look at them, and they hate me, anyway, so they won't miss me. I…I just can't stand there and watch you go. I'm sorry. But…I think I'd cry and that would upset Mom. So, it's best, I think, if I just stay in here until you're gone."

Iph's eyes glazed with tears and he had to swallow against the lump that seemed to be on the verge of choking him. Slowly, he nodded, understanding how Hercules felt. He wouldn't go out there this morning, either, if he didn't have to. Taking a deep breath, praying that he would remain strong and not cry, Iph pulled his young brother into a tight hug, and kissed his brow. "Never forget," he whispered, "I love you."

"I won't," Hercules stammered, hugging him right back. "I love you, too."

They stood a moment like that, two lost children being torn apart by the Fates. But, finally, Iph pulled away and walked to the door. With a last look at his brother, he went out into the hall, shutting the door quietly behind him. Iphicles didn't hear Hercules' murmured, heartbroken words. "I'm sorry, Iph. Someday you'll know this really is all my fault and I hope you'll be able to forgive me. I'm so sorry."

The boy turned then and climbed out of the window, heading out to the forest, where he could see Iph leave and cry privately, with no one to see or hear, no one to know how very much it hurt to see his brother go.

* * *

Late in the morning, long after they had gone, Hercules finally went home. Alcmene was kneeling in the garden clearing away some weeds, and she looked up at him sadly when he appeared silently by her side. Pulling him into a hug, she murmured, "Where have you been? I was worried about you."

"I…I couldn't watch them take him away," Hercules mumbled into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't."

Puzzled, she drew back a bit to look down at her youngest son. They'd not said a word until breakfast this morning, not wanting to upset the boys. "Hercules, how did you know they were going to take Iphicles with them?" she asked, a slight frown creasing her brow.

Swallowing, Hercules looked away, as he admitted, "We heard you talking yesterday. We were just outside the window…"

"Oh, no," Alcmene sighed, and pulled him close again, stroking his back. Her eyes strayed to the empty road and finally she understood Iph's behaviours that morning. He'd forced a smile when they'd said they were going to take him home with them, but hadn't been able to look at her. When they'd said how wonderful it was going to be, he'd nodded, stiffly, but tried to look like he liked the idea. But, she knew her son well, and could see the effort it was costing him and she'd wondered how he'd known to try to look agreeable, even pleased. When it had finally come time for him to climb up onto the wagon, he'd clung to her, trembling, as he'd whispered, "I'll be good, I promise. I'll do everything to make sure they let me come to see you. I love you, Mom…and I don't really want to go."

But when he'd pulled away from her, he'd pretended it was all just fine with him, and he'd smiled again from the box seat up on the wagon and waved to her as the horses started up. And Hercules was nowhere to be found, which she'd thought a blessing at the time, knowing how much it would upset both of them to be separated like this, how hard they'd find it to say 'good-bye'. But, they'd known after all, and had done what they'd each had to do to make it as easy as possible. Because they'd heard the threat. Closing her eyes, biting her lip, she wondered how her sons had ever gotten to be so brave.

"I'm sorry," she said then. "You weren't meant to hear all that." And then, she remembered what else the boys must have heard and the ice that had seemed to encase her heart shattered in that moment, bursting into shards of hatred for the pain they'd caused her sons.

Hercules shifted in her arms, pulling a little away, and she realized he was being far too quiet. He was too young to have understood all that had been said, but no doubt this too serious child had gathered enough to know that somehow he'd been a factor in their decision to take Iphicles away.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he sniffed, trying hard not to cry. "It's my fault," he whispered.

"NO!" she exclaimed then, pulling back to look down into his face, though she retained a tight grip on his arms. "No, no, no, Hercules. You mustn't ever think that!"

"It is," he insisted, unable to look at her. "Alcaeus told me last night, after supper, in the garden."

Stiffening with new alarm, she demanded, "What did he tell you? Tell me! What?"

Hercules cut her a quick look, and then stared down again at his feet. "He said Amphitryon wasn't my father. That I'm nothing but garbage and not fit to be near Iphicles," he reported quietly. Looking up quickly, afraid of the answer, but needing to know, he stammered, "Does that mean that you're not my mother? Did my real parents throw me away when I was born?"

"Ah, no, son," she cried, cupping his small anxious face with her hands, his blue eyes wide with pain and shadowed with fear. "You are most definitely my son, and I love you very much. You are not an orphan. That terrible, miserable man, telling you those things…"

"Is it true?" he asked trustingly, believing she'd never lie to him. "About Amphitryon?"

For a moment she just looked into those wide blue eyes and then she sighed. Standing, she drew him toward the garden bench, wondering how to explain it all so that he would understand. "Come, sit with me, Hercules. I have a story to tell you," she began. When they sat down, he gazed up at her, honey-gold locks tumbling almost into his eyes, his lips slightly parted as he breathed deeply, trying to calm himself. She took his hand in her own, and felt how cold he was, how very tense.

"Years ago," she said, her gaze on the flowers in her garden, "before you were born and when Iphicles was just a baby, my husband and Iphicles' father, Amphitryon had to go away to war. I loved him and missed him very much, hoping every single day that that would be the day when he would finally come home again. And, one day he did and I was so very happy to see him! He told me all about the battles and time just seemed to stand still, the day lasted so long and the night even longer. Finally, we did sleep, peaceful and content…and so very glad to be united again after such a long time. But when I woke in the morning, he was gone, as if he'd never been here."

She glanced down at Hercules and saw his eyes were rapt with attention. Brushing a hand over his hair, and then looping her arm around his shoulders to draw him close, she leaned toward him as she continued quietly, "But, I was deceived. It wasn't Amphitryon at all who had come home, but Zeus, the King of the Gods, who wanted to spend time with me. So he disguised himself as my husband, but I didn't know that at the time. A few days later, a messenger came from the war, and told me my husband had been killed, that he would never be coming home again. I couldn't understand it…I had seen him, hugged him, heard his voice and held him close. I thought there must be some mistake. But, it was true. Amphitryon was dead." Unbidden, the old grief darkened her eyes as they filled with remembered sadness.

Hercules reached up to touch her cheek. "I'm sorry, Mama," he murmured, reverting to his old, first, name for her.

"Oh, don't be sorry, little one," she smiled down at him, her eyes clearing as she gazed at his beautiful, earnest face and lightly brushed the hair back from his brow. "Because though Zeus might have deceived me, he left me a great, wonderful gift. He gave me you, Hercules. Because Zeus spent the night with me, you were born. You are his son."

The boy just stared up at her for a moment, his expression confused and then his lips opened in silent wonder. "Zeus?" he whispered when he found his voice. "Zeus, the King of the Gods…is my father?"

"Yes, my darling son," she affirmed with a soft smile. "But many people don't believe that; they think I made it all up. They only know that Amphitryon can't be your father, because he was never here before you were born. Alcaeus and Phoebe never believed me and they think I deliberately betrayed their son. But I didn't. I thought he'd come home to me. I didn't know until you were born, and Zeus came to tell me that you were his son."

Hercules looked away, his gaze shifting to the garden as he frowned in thought, trying to take it all in, trying to understand. After a moment, he looked back up at her as he asked, "But, if Zeus is my father, why hasn't he ever come to see me? Doesn't he like me? Is he ashamed of me, too, like Alcaeus and Phoebe are?"

Stroking his brow, she held his eyes with her own, as she answered firmly, "Do not ever believe that Zeus is ashamed of you. He was so proud when you were born that he told all the gods on Olympus and he made Hera quite angry, as a matter of fact. He will come to see you when the time is right. But, for now, you're all mine and I don't really want to share you, not even with the King of the Gods. I love you, Hercules. I have never been ashamed that you are my son, and I never will be. You are a good boy, and you'll be a great man someday…I will always be proud of you, so very proud to be your mother. And I will always, always love you. So, don't you worry anymore about anything that Alcaeus told you…he was wrong. He's a fool, and I wish I hadn't had to let Iphicles go with him, but I had no choice. For now, all you need remember is that none of what happened today is your fault. All right?"

He nodded, because he could see that it was important to her that he believe all she'd said.

But, for the first time, he wondered if his mother had lied to him.

How could Zeus be his father? The idea was too much, too crazy, to be believed. But he couldn't figure out why she'd lie about such a thing…or why she'd tell the lie to him.

* * *

The next day was a school day and Hercules trudged off with a heavy heart, knowing everyone would have questions about why Iph wasn't there. The only bright spot he could see in the day ahead was knowing that he'd be able to talk to Iolaus, his best friend, when the classes ended as they always did when the sun reached its zenith. Iolaus was older, as old as Iphicles and just as smart. Maybe he'd be able to make sense of all this. But he was afraid to even tell Iolaus, because what if his friend also despised him when he found out Amphitryon wasn't his father, that it had all been a lie? Would Iolaus think he was 'nothing' now, too? And how could anyone, even Iolaus, believe that his father was actually Zeus? It was just too crazy…all of it. Just too crazy to be believed.

By the time Hercules dragged himself to the schoolyard just on the outskirts of Thebes, he was utterly convinced that absolutely nothing was right with his world, nor ever would be. Wanting to avoid having to talk with anyone, even, maybe especially, Iolaus, he hesitated under a tree on the far side of the yard, waiting until the teacher called them inside. Watching the other children, he soon realized that Iolaus wasn't there, but that wasn't surprising. Most times, his best friend barreled in, running flat out, just managing to dart into his seat before he was officially declared to be late by the teacher. Being late meant a detention after school or an extra assignment, usually a boring one. Iolaus didn't do 'boring' and he hated being held indoors when he could be outside, so though he often pushed the patience of the teacher to the limits, he rarely went that one step too far.

Today, as it turned out, was no exception. Hercules and the others had filed inside and the door was about to be closed when Iolaus squeaked through just before it was firmly shut. Puffing, he plopped into his seat with a bright grin, oblivious to the teacher's sigh of exasperation. The time was long past when they'd been allowed to sit next to one another, as they seemed incapable of paying attention to anything else if they had one another to talk with. So, Hercules was on one side of the room and Iolaus was on the other. His head down, his attention apparently on the tablet in front of him, Hercules ignored Iolaus' attempts to catch his eye.

As the morning wore on, Iolaus cast increasingly concerned looks in his friend's direction. It wasn't long before the curly-haired blond realized the teacher was doing the same thing. Something was wrong with Hercules. He looked like he'd been beaten, though Iolaus couldn't see any bruises from where he was sitting. But he knew what having been beaten felt like and, in his opinion, Herc looked like he sometimes felt. And the kid was 'way too quiet. Usually, he was quick with the answers to the teacher's questions, smart, and though he didn't show off about it, he didn't hide what he knew, either. It was his silence, and the way he was sitting all hunched with his head down, that had alerted the teacher that something was up, Iolaus was certain of it. Frowning, he looked around to see if something was bothering Iphicles, too. If so, it might mean their mother was ill or something like that. Herc hated it whenever Alcmene wasn't well, which wasn't often, thank the gods. It really scared the kid to think something might happen to his mother and he couldn't do anything to help her.

But, when he scanned the room, Iolaus noticed that Iphicles wasn't there. Sitting back in his seat, his fingers unconsciously drumming lightly on the wooden table in front of him, he wondered what was going on. Frustrated, he realized he'd have to wait until the morning classes were over to find out.

It took so long for the sun to reach its zenith that Iolaus was seriously beginning to worry that Helios' chariot was now being pulled by snails. Breathing out a hearty sigh of relief when the teacher finally announced that was it for the day, he jumped to his feet and headed for the door, intent upon catching Hercules as soon as he came out of the building.

The younger boy dawdled around inside until everyone else had left, hoping that maybe Iolaus would have had to rush back home again that day, which he often had to do if his mother had special chores for him or his father was home from one battle or another. But such was not the case today. He'd delayed so long that Iolaus had grown impatient with waiting for him, and appeared in the doorway, calling out, "Hey, Herc, c'mon! What's taking you so long?"

Sighing, Hercules stood and went to join his best friend, wondering what to tell Iolaus, if anything. Well, he'd have to tell him that Iphicles had been taken away, but what about the rest of it? Even after having mulled it over all morning, Hercules still didn't know if he dared tell Iolaus what Alcaeus and Alcmene had told him.

Iolaus watched Hercules come toward him, taking in the dispirited posture and slow steps. Chewing on his lip, he began to worry that something truly terrible had happened. Looking around the schoolyard just before Hercules reached his side, the older student decided that they needed somewhere quiet to talk. There were still too many other kids hanging around who might interrupt, and from all the signs, this was going to be a serious conversation that didn't need a lot of others poking their noses into it.

As soon as Hercules was within reach, Iolaus grabbed his arm and hauled him unceremoniously around the side of the building and away to the edge of the nearby forest. "C'mon, we're getting out of here," was all he'd said, and Herc hadn't protested, just followed along mutely.

Once they were within the shelter of the trees, Iolaus pulled his friend over to a fallen log and pushed him down. "Sit down," he ordered. "And tell me what's wrong."

Herc sat, his head bowed and for a long minute, he didn't say anything at all. Frowning, Iolaus dropped down onto one knee in front of him, where he had a better chance to see his friend's face, and finally, Herc looked up at him.

Those blue eyes were like two huge pools of pain, and Iolaus almost gasped at the palpable hurt he could see in his friend's face. Reaching out to grab Herc's arm, gently though, as if afraid of causing more distress, Iolaus stammered, "By the gods, Herc! Are you sick? Where does it hurt? What happened?"

Hercules trembled and looked away, blinking furiously. Sniffing, he said, "Iphicles is gone."

"What do you mean, 'gone'?" Iolaus asked, suddenly afraid. Too often in his experience, 'gone' meant 'dead'.

"His grandparents took him home with them, to live with them," Hercules replied quietly, his voice tight. "They left yesterday."

"Oh, no!" Iolaus exclaimed, having heard about these particular grandparents. "What did the poor guy ever do to deserve a terrible fate like that?"

Hercules actually flinched at the question, which only confused Iolaus more. Swallowing, Herc said, "Iph didn't do anything to deserve it…it wasn't his fault."

"Uh huh," Iolaus grunted, shifting to sit on the ground at Hercules' feet, his knees drawn up and his arms crossed over them as he studied his young friend. The astute nine-year-old, wiser than he should have had to be at his age, got a sinking feeling as he began to figure out what was going on. Iphicles wasn't the only one who had heard the nasty speculations of the villagers, and Iolaus had his own source of vicious information at home. But he was nervous about making assumptions about what Herc saying, in case the kid didn't know yet. "Okay," Iolaus said finally. "What do you mean by 'his' grandparents…aren't they your grandparents, too? And, you said it wasn't Iph's fault, so whose fault was it?"

Trapped by his own words, Hercules froze, realizing that even in saying so little, he'd already maybe said too much. Finally, cutting his friend a quick look, he murmured, "I'm afraid to tell you…"

"Tell me what, Herc?" Iolaus asked quietly. When there was no immediate answer forthcoming, he touched his friend's knee lightly to get his attention, and then said, "What is there to be afraid of, buddy? You know you can tell me anything…"

Tears welled suddenly in Hercules' eyes and he started to shudder with his desperate attempt to contain his sobs. Iolaus was up on his feet in a flash, moving to wrap a strong arm around his friend's shoulders. Iolaus had never seen Herc like this, and knew that something or someone had hurt him very badly. The small blond hoped for their sakes that he never got his hands on them, or they'd regret whatever they'd done to his friend. But gently, all he quietly said was, "Hey, c'mon, it can't be that bad, can it? Nobody died, right? Is your Mom okay? She's not sick or hurt?"

"She feels bad that Iph was taken," Hercules managed to stammer.

"Yeah, I'll bet she does," Iolaus agreed. "She's a real, special lady, your Mom…she loves you guys like crazy, so she's bound to feel bad about this."

Hercules sniffed and gathered up his courage. He had to tell someone and Iolaus was the only one he trusted enough to talk to about this. Avoiding his best friend's eyes, Herc said, "Amphitryon wasn't my father. That's why Alcaeus and Phoebe have always hated me."

"Ah, they are such jerks, Hercules," Iolaus exclaimed, but not without sympathy, "what do you care what they think?"

"Did you hear what I said, Iolaus?" Hercules demanded then, his fear making him a little belligerent, as if he were preparing to be rejected by his friend. "Amphitryon wasn't my father!"

"Yeah, I heard you," Iolaus replied mildly, looking away. "So what difference does that make? You're still you."

Hercules was taken aback by that, and the fact that Iolaus didn't seem shocked. Like it really didn't matter. He had no way of knowing that Iolaus had known for a long time that Hercules wasn't Amphitryon's son. Skouros, his father, had always had a lot to say about Alcmene, except he rarely called her by her name, and her 'brat', as he referred to Hercules, when he was being polite. Skouros had always been offended on Amphitryon's behalf. They'd been friends, long years ago, comrades at arms, and Skouros hadn't taken it well when he'd learned that his old comrade's wife hadn't been faithful to him.

But none of that had ever mattered to Iolaus. Herc was his best friend, and Alcmene was the nicest person he'd ever met, the only adult he really trusted. He was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt and figured she must have had a good reason. Come to that, Iolaus hadn't been able to figure out why his own mother had remained so loyal to Skouros all these years. Iolaus figured loyalty should be earned and he hadn't ever seen any evidence that his father had earned his wife's faithfulness.

"It really doesn't bother you, does it?" Hercules asked, honestly surprised given how much it had bothered him to learn the truth.

Turning his open and honest gaze back to his friend, Iolaus replied, "No, it doesn't. Why? Does it bother you?"

"Well, yeah…" Hercules stammered. "I mean…when Alcaeus told me Amphitryon wasn't my father, well, I wondered who was, and even if Alcmene was my Mom…"

Frowning at that, Iolaus demanded, "So, did you ask her?"

Hercules swallowed and nodded as he looked away.

"And?" Iolaus prompted.

"You're never going to believe this," Herc groaned, shaking his head.

Smiling a little in encouragement, his best friend urged, "Try me."

Hercules pushed his fingers through his hair and straightened up to look Iolaus full in the eye. "Mom told me Zeus is my father."

"Really?" Iolaus exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with surprised delight. This was shaping up to be one heck of an amazing story, and no one loved good stories more than Iolaus did. "How in the name of Gaia did that happen?"

"You think it's possible?" Hercules blurted, once again amazed by Iolaus' straight-forward reaction of acceptance, even of enthusiastic interest.

Shrugging, Iolaus replied with perfect sincerity, "Well, if that's what 'Mene told you, then it's gotta be true, right?"

Hercules looked away, once again slumping in despair. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice little more than a whisper.

It was Iolaus' turn to be taken aback. Gaping at his friend, he shook his head. Laying a hand on Herc's shoulder, he said, "Herc, your mother wouldn't lie to you about something this important. She wouldn't lie to you about anything. I don't think she even knows how to lie."

Hercules looked up with eyes that begged Iolaus to be sure of what he was saying. Squaring his shoulders, Iolaus said fervently, his voice low and earnest, "Nobody can make you believe in someone else, Herc. You either decide to trust people or you don't. But, I've got to tell you if you don't already know it, your Mom is the best in the world. If she says Zeus is your father, then he is. That's all there is to it."

"I want to believe her," Hercules murmured. "But the story is just so…so unbelievable."

"Well, why don't you tell me the story, and I'll tell you whether I believe it or not," Iolaus replied, sitting back to listen.

Sighing, Hercules shrugged, and then told his best friend what his mother had told him the day before. That Zeus had disguised himself as Amphitryon, deceiving her, and she hadn't known anything was wrong until she'd found out her husband had been killed in battle and couldn't have been with her. And that she hadn't known who had deceived her until Hercules had been born and Zeus had proclaimed her child as his son.

"So, you can see, it's a pretty weird story," Hercules concluded. "I mean, they were only together one day, and they weren't even married, so how could I be his son, if it even was Zeus?"

Regarding his friend with an almost aching fondness, Iolaus reflected that Herc really was very young, and there were a lot of things that he didn't understand yet. When Herc turned to look at him, to get his reaction, he shrugged as he asked, "What's not to believe? In fact, I think it explains a lot."

Frowning, Hercules asked, "Like what?"

"Like why you're almost a full head taller than me when I'm two years older than you," Iolaus replied. "And why you're stronger than the strongest man I've ever seen and you're still only seven years old. If Zeus is your father, then that makes you half a god, and that explains it all."

Hercules swallowed. "You mean, like I'm some kind of freak, or something?"

"No, I mean like you're a demigod or something," Iolaus replied with exaggerated patience. "Where do you get off calling yourself a freak? You've got a great Mom, the King of the Gods for a Dad, and you're a pretty neat guy all on your own…so you're just about as far from being a 'freak' as anyone could be. All I meant was that it explains your strength. It's…it's like a gift. Like some people sing really beautifully, and you know that it's a gift from the Muses. So, your Dad gave you your strength. Why is that so hard for you to accept?

Hercules thought about that, but didn't say anything. Instead, he asked, "What else does the story explain, Iolaus? You said it explained a lot of things."

Iolaus smiled brightly at him, radiating his own joy that he'd been right all along about 'Mene, despite his father's harsh and cruel words. "It explains that your Mom never betrayed your father. I can't imagine 'Mene ever betraying anyone, let alone someone she loved, especially her husband who trusted her while he went away to war. That's just not who she is," he said with great confidence. "So, if Zeus disguised himself as Amphitryon, which a god could easily do, and deceived her, well, that means it wasn't her fault. She's blameless. Do you understand?"

Hercules scratched his cheek. "I always thought people had to be married to have babies," he muttered, a little embarrassed to admit to his ignorance in the matter.

Snorting, Iolaus looked around at the forest. "Herc, you're old enough to have seen animals go at it and to have seen baby animals being born. Well, people are just animals who talk and know what's right and wrong. We're supposed to be married to have children, but we don't have to be. It's a rule…sometimes rules get broken. All I'm saying is, in this case, Alcmene didn't break the rule…Zeus did. But, he's a god, so maybe our rules don't apply to him."

"But, why?" Hercules asked then, wanting to believe but finding the idea of Zeus as his father a huge idea to grapple with. "Why would Zeus do that? Why would he want to be with my Mom?"

"You're kidding, right?" Iolaus replied, perfectly seriously. When Hercules just looked at him askance, the older boy shook his head, sorry and a little sad that Hercules didn't realize just how lucky he was in his mother. "Herc…your Mom is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen…that I can ever imagine. It's not just that she's so pretty, 'cause she is. But," the boy struggled to find the words, "she has this light around her, and warmth…it shines from her eyes and her smile. You can feel it when she touches you. Making you feel safe…and…and, well, loved. She makes everyone around her feel special. When she laughs, it's like music. You've seen her garden…it's like magic the way she can make beautiful things grow. And she's gentle, never with a mean word about anyone. But she's brave, too, and strong, in the ways that matter. And, hey, you know what a great cook she is! I'm not at all surprised that Zeus would choose her, and do everything in his power to be with her. Your mom is…well…there's no one like her, Herc. No one. I…love your Mom, Herc. I actually find it a kind of relief to know that Zeus can see such goodness, such beauty and want to be with her, though I could slug him for deceiving her. Still…it's good to know the King of the Gods appreciates a woman like her. It makes me hope that maybe he really notices what's going on, and cares, and who is worth paying some attention to. You are SO lucky that she's your mother."

Hercules felt the force of Iolaus' words, his absolute sincerity in the admiration he felt, even the touch of wistfulness that his friend felt, wash over him and sooth his soul. Iolaus was right about everything he said about his mother. His Mom wouldn't lie to him. So it must be true. Zeus was his father.

"Mom told me that Alcaeus and Phoebe didn't believe her when she told them what happened. And Alcaeus told me that I'm nothing but garbage, not fit to be any where near Iph, which is why they took him away," Hercules said, his voice tight with the last lingering pain of it all as he made these final confessions.

"Yeah, well, like I said, they are JERKS! Don't tell me you care a rat's ass about anything they think or say?" Iolaus exclaimed.

"Even if I don't care," Hercules argued, "Iph is paying the price. He has to live with them…and it's my fault!"

"That's crap," Iolaus snorted. "Look, I feel bad for Iph, but it's not YOUR fault. First, it doesn't make any sense to blame someone for being born. They didn't have anything to do with it…they just got born! Second, you are not 'garbage' and you are not 'nothing'. Garbage is nasty, filthy stuff that makes you sick if you're around it too long. If anyone's 'garbage' in this situation, it's Iph's grandparents. They make me sick and I don't even have to spend any time with them. And they sure are nasty. They took Iph because it makes them feel powerful. They did it because they could. They did it to hurt your mother and you because they are mean and miserable people. You are the son of Alcmene and the son of Zeus, so by definition, that makes you special, not 'nothing'."

"You think being half a god makes me special?" Hercules asked, stiffening a little, not liking the idea of that but not sure why.

"No, I think being the son of Alcmene makes you special," Iolaus replied, quite honestly with almost a fierce loyalty toward Hercules' mother. "Being the son of Zeus makes you tall and strong. Lots of people are tall and strong…that's not special unless you do something good with it, like be a hero or something. But, being a hero doesn't require being tall and strong, you just have to be decent and brave. It's Alcmene who has taught you that stuff, not Zeus."

Hercules gazed at Iolaus silently for a long moment, thinking about everything that he'd said. "You really don't care, do you? Who my father was?" Hercules repeated, somehow needing the reassurance.

"No, buddy, I don't. I really don't," Iolaus replied steadily, his impossibly blue eyes clear and compelling in their intensity, needing Hercules to believe him. "Look at it this way. If you suddenly found out that my father wasn't the great General Skouros, but was Zeus or the local blacksmith, would you care? Would it change who I am?"

Shaking his head, Hercules smiled for the first time that day. "No," he replied. "It wouldn't make any difference at all. You'd still be you."

"Exactly," Iolaus affirmed in the manner of a teacher who is proud of student for having figured out a difficult problem.

"And you think my mother is telling the truth," Hercules persisted.

"Yes, I do," Iolaus confirmed staunchly. "Don't you? Herc…has your mother ever lied to you?"

"No, I don't think so," Hercules replied.

"Then why would she be lying to you now, about something as important to you as this is?" Iolaus asked. Shaking his head, he said quietly, "Like I said before, Herc, only you can decide who you will trust. But, I swear to you, if there are two people in this world you can trust without question, it's your Mom and me. Neither one of us would ever hurt you."

"You make it all seem so clear…and simple," Hercules said thoughtfully.

"Well, it's not really complicated, Herc. It's just that when you're upset, sometimes things seem more confusing than they really are," Iolaus replied with a shrug.

"Maybe, but I think…I think you're really smart, Iolaus…you understand stuff…" the younger boy said, struggling to explain what he meant.

Snickering, Iolaus grinned at his best friend, appreciating the comment but figuring Herc really hadn't lived long enough yet to recognize who was smart and who wasn't. "Tell it to the teachers," he teased. "They think I'm as dumb as a box of rocks."

"That's just 'cause you're restless and you're always fooling around in school," Hercules replied. "You don't let them see how smart you are."

"Well, thanks buddy, but I think it's just common sense, mostly, and watching people, to try to understand them, to figure them out, so you know where and when it's safe and when to run for cover," Iolaus replied, having already mastered a lot of life's lessons about survival. "Anyway, are you okay now? Ready to head home? Your Mom'll be wondering where you are."

"Yeah, I'm fine now," Hercules assured him, and he meant it…he really did feel fine. As he stood to head home, he said, "Thanks, Iolaus…I'm glad you made me talk to you. I feel a lot better."

"Anytime, buddy…whenever you need a shoulder to lean on, you just call my name and I'll be there," Iolaus assured him with a grin and wave as he set off through the forest, taking the shortcut back to his own place. Turning back briefly, he called out, "Say 'hello' to your Mom for me, and give her a hug. She likely needs one, what with missing Iph and all!"

"I will," Hercules called back. He watched until Iolaus was out of sight, and then he turned to follow the road home. As he strode along with a lighter step, he thought about how much he liked Iolaus, and how lucky he was that Iolaus liked him, too. He didn't figure he could ever have a better friend, or a smarter one, who seemed to understand people and who made even the toughest stuff seem simple and easy.

As he walked, he thought about what Iolaus had said about being a hero, that it meant being decent and brave, using his strength to do good things. Biting his lip, he thought that he'd like to do good things, to help people. And, well, if he ever got into trouble, all he'd ever have to do was call Iolaus. 'Cause he really did trust Iolaus, and he knew, somehow deep inside, his friend would never let him down. Iolaus had said he'd be there, be a shoulder to lean on and Hercules knew he could count on that promise.

And he grinned a little to himself, feeling warm inside that Iolaus really didn't care who was his father or even be all that impressed that it was Zeus. It didn't matter to Iolaus that Hercules was the son of a god, a demigod…though the idea made Hercules nervous and a little worried, wondering what being a 'demigod' really meant. As he thought about all Iolaus had said, Hercules felt a burst of pure joy, a release from the anxiety of who his father was, or what it might mean. Iolaus liked him for the person he was, as if that was enough, and would always be the only thing that mattered. They were friends…it was that simple.

Zeus might be his father, but Zeus was far away and a stranger. Like Iolaus said, he had to decide for himself who he would trust. Drawing upon the whole of his seven years of life experience, he decided he trusted his mother and Iolaus. And Iphicles. Maybe he'd trust others some day, maybe even his father, and maybe not. It didn't matter…not today, anyway.

Spotting his mother in the garden, he ran up the lane and called out with a bright smile. "Hey, Mom, I'm home! Iolaus said to tell you 'hello'." And then he hugged her, tight.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Alcmene smiled as she hugged her son back, pleased and very relieved to see him much happier than he'd been when he'd left that morning.

"Yeah," Hercules replied, pulling away to head toward the cottage. "What's for lunch? I'm starving."

"Hmm," his mother murmured, so very glad the frightened, pinched look was gone from his face and eyes, curious to know, though, how the magical transformation had come about. "Let's go in and see," she suggested. As they moved indoors, she ventured, "So, you saw Iolaus at school…?"

"Uh huh," her youngest replied. Sobering for a moment, Hercules said quietly, "I hope it wasn't a bad thing to do, but I told him…what you'd told me."

"That's all right," she assured him, ruffling his hair fondly. "It's not a secret. After all, Zeus told everyone on Olympus. What did Iolaus say about it all?"

Hercules frowned a little as he tried to remember everything his friend had said. "Well, he said he wasn't surprised that Zeus would deceive you, to be with you. Iolaus said you're the most beautiful woman he can ever imagine. Actually, he said a lot of really nice things…like how you make things grow, and how nice you are to everyone, and make them feel safe, and stuff like that. He said that you were brave and that I was really lucky that you're my Mom. He…Iolaus says he really loves you, Mom."

Alcmene felt her throat tighten, but she just nodded and said calmly, "Well, I really love him, too."

"You do?" Hercules replied with a grin. "Iolaus'll be happy to hear that! Anyway, he also said it didn't matter who my father is. Iolaus said that all that matters is who I am. You know, whether I'm a good person or not. He says it just plain doesn't matter, anymore than it would matter to me if his father wasn't General Skouros but was Zeus or the blacksmith."

Alcmene couldn't help it. She snickered at that. Trust Iolaus to be pithily direct. But then she sobered as she thought, 'And trust him to say all that needed to be said…all the right things that Hercules could understand.'

Shrugging, Hercules finished helping her carry the cheese and bread, the olives and tomatoes and the apples to the table. "Anyway, he said I had to decide who'd I'd trust in life. But he told me that I could always trust him and you," he reported. Looking up at his mother, the young demigod smiled that sweet smile that always filled her heart, "And I do. I always will."

"Well, your friend Iolaus is a very smart lad," Alcmene said as she bent to hug her son. "Everything he told you is absolutely right."

"Yeah, I told him he was smart," Hercules agreed as he slipped onto a chair. Frowning, he shook his head as he added, "But…he doesn't think he's smart. He just thinks he's sensible."

"I think he's both," Alcmene replied with a warm smile as she cut the bread and then sliced the cheese. "In fact, I think he's wonderful and that we are both very lucky that he's your friend."

Hercules took a bite of bread and cheese, then reached for a pickle as he replied, "Me, too. He told me that if I ever need a shoulder to lean on, I should just call him and he'd be there."

Alcmene stilled for a moment, remembering a long ago, terrifying day. Quietly, she murmured, "We can both count on Iolaus to always be there when we need him, son. He won't ever let either of us down."

Her gaze lifted to the window, and the sky beyond as she sent a silent heartfelt thank you to the boy who had already promised a shoulder to lean on, already soothed a troubled and confused heart…and was already watching out for Hercules, as he would do for the whole of his life. She smiled then, remembering the two-year-old who stole cookies in the market when his mother wasn't watching…and the brave, noble man who had saved her life, and her unborn son's life.

"You know, Hercules, I don't get to see enough of Iolaus," she reflected then. "I think you should invite him to come by soon and maybe stay the night…do you think he'd like that?"

Hercules thought about that for a minute, but then he nodded and smiled. "Yeah…I think he would. Thanks, Mom."


End file.
